


Surprise

by imitateslife



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I don't know if there's a plot in here somewhere but I'm proud of it, Kissing, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Percy was not due home in time for Marguerite’s birthday. But the Scarlet Pimpernel always has a trick or two up his sleeve...





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Breathtaking Kiss - It’s the kiss that you can’t do anything for a few seconds after, you keep your eyes closed with mouth agape of you try to let your mind process what happened.

The game of cat and mouse began when Sir Percival Blakeney, Bart. arrived late to his wife’s birthday party. Whispers buzzed about the room as his arrival was announced. Lady Blakeney watched him, seemingly frozen, as he descended the steps into the ballroom. Her expression was unreadable as her husband crossed the room with his arms full of roses.

“Forgive the delay, m’dear,” he said. “I was scouring every florist in London for flowers befitting such occasion and I quite lost track of the time!”

Lady Blakeney gingerly accepted the bouquet of crimson roses from him and she took a petal between her finger and thumb. She stroked the velvet soft flower. Her full lips pursed and then twitched to a smile. She stopped looking at the rose bouquet, but at her husband, with his impeccable, pastel suit.

“How clever of you, Sir Percy,’ she said. “To have brought the one flower that can melt my heart.”

“Sink me if I don’t know what it is my wife wants for her birthday!” he said with his silly, little laugh. “Take note, lads!”

Laughter rippled across the ballroom. A servant came to take the flowers to put them in water. But when Lady Blakeney turned to face her husband once more, she saw that as the orchestra began to play again, he was cornered by men and women who had missed his bright presence at the party. For a moment, Lady Blakeney seemed as if she might join their little group, but the voice of a guest – a handsome young viscount – asking her to dance pulled her away before she could decide.

Percy was not due home in time for Marguerite’s birthday. In fact, Marguerite did not anticipate him home until that Friday – at the soonest. It was not always an easy trip from London to Paris and back, especially not with things being the way they were. She often had nightmares of his head upon Madame Guillotine’s chopping block. All for the sake of strangers. She wondered what it was he had done with the refugees from France – if they would fade into the glittery guest list of her party or if, more likely, they’d been escorted around the back by the servants and taken up to guest quarters to change and bathe and rest. She only allowed herself a moment to wonder about the rescued before her mind – and eyes – once more wandered to the rescuer. He filled his part well. He filled _every_ role he played well. But tonight, he was nothing more than the foppish fool she called a husband to the public’s eyes. Or so it seemed. As she danced, Marguerite managed to make eye contact with Percy for the fleetest of seconds. There was something dark and cunning and uninhibited there that set a shiver of delight straight to her core. Her dance partner seemed oblivious of the cause, but was gallant enough to ask if Lady Blakeney needed some air. She hazarded another glance over at Percy. His trapezoidal quizzing glass, usually brandished about as he entertained, currently rested between his lips, ever so slightly. Marguerite tore her eyes away. She ground her teeth and then managed a faint smile at her companion.

“Some fresh air, I think,” she said. She could use the cool night air to stead herself. The viscount offered to accompany her and, in fact walked her down the steps leading to the veranda. However, once she steadied herself against the banister, she sorely wished the man would melt into the flagstones or – at the very least – rejoin the party. She shut her eyes, but each time she dared to, she imagined that the figure hovering at her shoulder was not a worried acquaintance, but her husband. She imagined a hand upon her shoulder or fingers brushing her neck, cradling her chin. But when Marguerite opened her eyes, she was more than aware that it was not Percy at her side. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“I fear I am keeping you from other dance partners,” she said.

“It would be ungentlemanly to leave the guest of honor on her own while she felt so unwell,” the viscount said.

“Indeed, it would!” a voice at the top of the stairs crowed. “Too right you are, good man!’

“Sir Percy,” the viscount said. “Your wife seems to have taken ill upon the dance floor.”

“Odd’s fish, my dear fellow, you think I did not notice?” he said. “Lud, the kind of husband you must think I am not to have noticed! Had a devil of a time getting away to come and see if she was all right. You know how Lord Tony likes to talk-!”

Marguerite did not turn to face them, for she was certain her face would betray her. Dizziness – illness, whatever the viscount assumed she felt – would give way to heart-pounding desires if she but beheld her husband. It felt a lifetime since he was home, since he had taken her in his arms and every time he did, she worried it would be the last time. She bit her lip. The swish of her skirts caught both men’s attention as she rocked forward against the banister.

“Good chap, taking her for some fresh air,” Percy continued. “My dear fellow, go and enjoy the festivities! I feel it’s a husband’s duty to care for his wife when she is indisposed thus.”

She heard the viscount excuse himself and his footfalls up the staircase. And then, slowly, Percy’s as he descended towards her. When she felt sure that they were alone, Marguerite turned to face him. Chest to chest, she could feel his body heat emanating towards her. She imagined her cheeks were flushed – though she willed them desperately to cool, it was a futile task as she beheld her husband. Dressed in creamy pastels, all silk and lace, he should have seemed a delicate thing. Instead, he had, like a lion springing forth for its prey, forsaken his lazy, reclined positioning for something more robust and commanding. The blaze in his eyes was not the look he gave to the world as either fop or hero, but only as her own, dear Percy. His feather-light touch against her cheek made Marguerite sigh. She listed towards his touch, tilting her head ever so slightly as her eyes shut.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” she whispered.

“Nothing could keep me away,” Percy murmured. His fingers traced the outline of Marguerite’s prominent cheek bones and then her jaw. “I may have been… momentarily detained. Tony truly does love to talk…”

Marguerite laughed shallowly. She could taste the scent of him – the cologne that masked the sea air and salt-sweat from his adventures and all that lay beneath it. It was the scent that lingered upon the empty side of her bed, the scent she imagined in the halls while he was absent. It was the scent of home and all she held dear.

“Home.” She opened her eyes and looked up into his when at last she found the words. “I didn’t expect you _home_.”

“ _Nothing_ could keep me away,” he repeated. “Odd’s life, m’dear, what sort of husband would I be to miss your birthday?”

“I would not blame you,” she said instantly, voice still a whisper, but now fiercer. “You’ve so many more important things to think about than- “

But before Marguerite could continue, Percy’s lips found hers. His arm wrapped around her waist and Marguerite – throwing propriety to the wind – threw her arms around Percy’s neck to pull him closer. She couldn’t ever have him close enough. She wanted him under her skin and with her always, even when he was miles away. Her eyes shut again at his touch. There was a great melting sensation in her molten core – everything went liquid and surged forth as Percy’s tongue swept against her lower lip. She moaned. It was enough to deepen the kiss and they steadied themselves against the stone banister for a few more, heated moments.

When the kiss broke, the already breathless Marguerite was too dazed to speak. Her lungs ached – she burned. Burned for air, burned for Percy, burned for his touch once more. The sting of a cool breeze upon her flaming cheeks quenched the fire within her just enough for her to catch a breath – just one – as she beheld her husband, looking as dazed and love-mad as she felt. For the longest time, words were not exchanged, only gazes of love and longing until, finally, the world returned and the music from indoors could be heard.

“The waltz, madam?” Percy asked. “Why, is that not the most intimate of new and fashionable dances?’

“So it is,” Marguerite said. “Perhaps, then, it is only fitting that I dance it with my husband.”

“Are you quite certain you feel well enough for such things, m’dear?” His lazy drawl was slowly, shakily creeping back into his voice. “The minuet with a near stranger almost did you in, what!”

“Oh, la!” She took his arm and led him towards the steps. “You really are the greatest fool in England if you think that.”

“Sink me! You don’t mean to tell me that my wife – the cleverest woman in all Europe and France’s greatest actress – feigned a faint spell solely for _my_ attention!”

“There was little to fake – you made it quite easy to feel so lightheaded. You always do.”

“The things you say, Margot! Why, if you truly feel that way, perhaps it is better not to rejoin the crowd until you are quite certain your dizzy spell has ended!”

The revelers indoors did not see Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney return to the party. However, if anyone dared to look out the windows and onto the veranda, they would see husband and wife waltzing with near scandalous intimacy, laughing and talking beneath the stars as only lovers do.

 


End file.
